


Pictures on the Wall

by Gemenied



Category: Downton Abbey, Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemenied/pseuds/Gemenied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These parties at Boyd's always feel a little like the wayward children being roped into a family dinner so that mother and father can interrogate them about the goings on in their lives. This time is a little different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures on the Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GraceBe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceBe/gifts).



> *Disclaimer:* I own nothing of either Waking the Dead, nor Downton Abbey, which sort of appears in this story. I just play. 
> 
> *A/N:* This is my birthday-present for the lovely GraceBe, who is a huge Downton Abbey-fan. Happy birthday, dearest! And I guess it was clear from the moment they announced that Sue Johnston was joining DA's cast, that this story was brewing. No names are mentioned, but there is a little spoiler for series 5 of DA in there. I hope, it is up to par. Enjoy

**Pictures on the Wall**

 

The evening is a typical Grace-type thing, Eve thinks as she slowly wanders through the hallway towards the kitchen. A glass in hand, slowly sipping from the exceptional wine, she lets the atmosphere of the house wash over her. It’s changed. A lot. In previous years, the rare times any of them were actually allowed to enter the big Greenwich property, it was dark, despite the light colours, cool, despite the heating. Sterile.

Now, there is always a little chaos, always things lying about, but the ambient temperature has risen by at least five degrees. The lumen count is no different.

These parties always feel a little like the wayward children being roped into a family dinner so that mother and father can interrogate them about the goings on in their lives. They all know it, and they all indulge their hostess, adored friend and mother figure that she is to all of them.

Apart from that, these evenings have an extremely high entertainment value. It’s amusing to watch Grace riding roughshod all over Boyd, and him indulgently bending to her will. Highly entertaining and very funny.

These parties also always have an underlying reason, at least the dates do, but they are never spoken of. Grace is good at engineering such situations to circumvent worse moments.

This time is a little different though, because there is something quietly jubilant in the atmosphere. Eve can’t be certain, hasn’t seen any specific signs, but she has an inkling that her vague idea is correct. It’s not something she would have really expected and inwardly she can only shake her head. But this is Boyd, and this is Grace.

Even more so, this is Grace and Boyd together. Anything and everything is possible.

There’s laughter coming from the living room. Spence and Boyd are trading stories that seem to become bigger and more ridiculous as the evening progresses. Grace and Frankie are both curled up on the sofa, their conversation barely interrupted by the stories the men tell.

The house has changed since Grace moved in, Eve realizes. It’s very visible, especially in the hallway with photographs hung all over the wall. There’s still a very cool, elegant feel to the display with all the black frames and the black and white pictures, but they are all real and all vintage.

Eve has seen these pictures before; many of them were around in Grace’s old house, so they aren’t surprising.Strangely enough, though, one of them catches her eye.

It looks several decades old, from the clothes and the hairstyle of the woman in the picture; she’d guess it was taken some time in the 1920s. The woman, whose face bears a striking resemblance to Grace, is sitting on a bench in some sort of backyard, in front of a stone wall. Her clothes and shoes are modest, though they look to be her Sunday best. The woman looks a little severe, but there is a certain spark of mischief visible in her eyes that makes Eve believe the woman was not always concerned with the straight and narrow.

“Looks just like Grace, doesn’t she?” Frankie has suddenly appeared next to her, a half-empty bottle of wine in her hand. Holding it up, she shrugs. “Boyd sent me to top you up.”

Eve nods and holds her glass up. “Very. Looks like another one of those still waters types, as well.”

Frankie smirks and nods. Their Grace has always been a very quiet one, but they always knew that there was an excitingly dark side to her.

“I see, you found Aunt Gladys.” The two scientists jump at the voice suddenly next to them. Grace has moved so quietly that they haven’t heard her.

“Good lord, Grace! Don’t scare me like that!”

The profiler only smirks at Frankie. “You need more focus, Frankie.”

Frankie snorts. “Boyd’s teachings work, hmm?”

Grace has never been easily provoked, and ever since her and Boyd’s relationship has stopped being the worst kept secret in the Met, her serenity and composure in public has increased. If that was even possible.

“Aunt Gladys?” They’ve had this pointless argument about who is corrupting who in the relationship countless times before, so Eve steers interest back to the photograph. “Your aunt?”

“My mother’s,” Grace replies. “She was a lady’s maid up in Yorkshire, for some Countess. Dowager of something.... I can’t really remember.”

“Lady’s maid.” Eve shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine. “Strange that eighty, ninety years ago so many women dressed and undressed other women for a living, only because one part of the pair was born rich and the other was not.”

“And that the maids were happy when they found a place where they weren’t constantly mistreated, or worse, abused.”

“Was she so lucky?” Frankie nods towards the picture.

“When the picture was taken, she was, the family said. But she held other positions before, so I don’t know. Aunt Gladys must have been quite the character.” The way Grace smiles peaks the others’ curiosity.

“How?” Like eager children they grin.

Grace shakes her head and refills her glass before leaning against the wall for comfort. “She did like her drink, apparently. Often and a little too much. Also liked the ponies. And boxing.”

“And gambling, from what one hears.” Out of nowhere Boyd has appeared in the hallway as well, his arm automatically going around Grace’s waist. It’s such an artless, casual gesture that neither Frankie nor Eve dares to tease the couple about it. Eve, however, inwardly jots it down on her list of subtle signs.

“Gives you an idea where Grace got her dark side from.”

The comment earns Boyd an eye-roll, but nothing beyond that. Another subtle sign, Eve realizes.

“She must have been a good maid though, because she always received recommendations and found new positions. That was her last one though. Up in Yorkshire.”

“Drink finally got to her?” Spence has at last found his way to the hallway party as well, and just like Frankie and Boyd, he is smirking.

“No.” It’s Grace’s turn to smirk. “Times were changing, and after the countess died in the arms of her Russian lover, Aunt Gladys decided that she had enough of dressing rich women and keeping their secrets and went back to London.”

“To do what?” Eve asks on a snort, not really certain whether to be amused or bemused.

Grace chuckles. “Drink, gamble and manipulate, I guess. There was a pub in Bayswater where she set up her parlour, and apparently she had a very successful...business.”

“Criminality in your family, Grace. Should we be worried?” Spence quips.

The idea is absurd enough, even though they all know that seeing people first and cases second, Grace has been known to bend the rules at times almost as much as Boyd.

So they laugh. Even Boyd.

“Maybe that’s where I got my instinct from.”

They laugh again, longer and louder, noticing how Boyd makes a visible effort to keep his comments to himself. Instead his hold on Grace tightens, eagerly noticed by all of their guests.

“Did you ever meet her?” Eve asks.

“No, she died during the Blitz. Her place went up in smoke.”

The younger colleagues snort. “Sounds apt.”

“Perfectly apt, especially since it wasn’t a bomb that destroyed her parlour.”

“What was it then?” Spence asks eagerly.

Grace shrugs, her features drawn into a grimace.

“Records are sketchy,” Boyd ventures after a moment of curious silence. “The term ‘arson’ was bandied about, but no evidence has ever been found. Structure and furniture was mostly wood, the customers not of the fine kind. The neighbours were apparently relieved to be rid of the establishment.” He shrugs. “Didn’t care much for the five people who died.”

“Nice people then.”

“And probably full of worries because of the war,” Eve agrees with Frankie.

Grace smiles and shrugs. “I’m not sure Aunt Gladys wasn’t glad to meet such an end. I don’t think she’d have been very comfortable with the way things went after the war. Too open, too much observation. She was a master at the shady things, the discreet things. Wouldn’t have liked it much.”

“Aunt Gladys,” Eve smirks.

“Aunt Gladys,” Grace replies, the same grin dancing over her face.

They slowly file back into the living room, where Spence and Frankie are careful not to look too closely at the arm that Boyd still has around Grace, or the way she leans into his touch.

Thoughtfully Eve wanders behind them, sipping from her wine. “Russian lover, eh?” she suddenly asks.

“Yeah. Caused a huge scandal. The noble relatives didn’t have a clue apparently; Aunt Gladys managed to cover for them quite nicely. Even though my family saw Aunt Gladys as an embarrassment, her stories were always a big hit.” Grace laughs, while Boyd snorts derisively.

“Double standards, I know.”

They settle down around the coffee table, cognac in snifters before them, and wine in the glasses. The fire in the fireplace is burning warmly; the light in the room gives comfort. It’s one of those rare moments in their family of misfits, Eve thinks. But it’s good. Quietly she raises her glass.

“To Aunt Gladys, I guess.”

Boyd snorts again, rolling his eyes. “Oh, good God!” His derision doesn’t stop him from raising his glass as well. Or maybe it is Grace’s hand that quietly squeezes his. They smile at each other, meaningfully, effortlessly. That’s when Eve is certain.

“To Aunt Gladys,” Grace repeats and the others join in.

_And to other things_ , Eve silently adds.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated


End file.
